


High Anxiety

by Bodhicitta



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bodhicitta/pseuds/Bodhicitta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a new dad.<br/>One day he would be ready to leave His Baby with a stranger.<br/>Today was not that day.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Oy!  That's me onion!"  John slapped Mary's hand out of the way as she tried to steal one of his onion rings, which sent Molly into paroxysms.  She laughed so hard she almost choked on her chardonnay.  Mary patted her on the back with one hand and continued poaching John's onion rings with the other.  It was so lovely to be able to get out, spend quality time with Sherlock, John and Mary, even if just for a quick bite of lunch.

Molly sipped cautiously at her wine, spacing it out between bites of her turkey pesto sandwich, ever mindful of Sherlock's admonitions about the possibility of alcohol passing the mammary ductal barrier. ( _"That's been disproven, Sherlock." "By who? Johns Hopkins! Please!"_ )  

She sighed and pushed the half empty glass away, wanting Sherlock to see that she was pacing herself.  Her phone buzzed and wriggled around on the high top pub table they were sharing with John and Mary.  

"Oh, Lord, it's probably the babysitter."  Molly swiped her hair out of the way and held the phone close to her ear.  She had to turn around to avoid the sound of her favorite couple arguing over who had ordered the onion rings.  She cast her eyes around the pub to see if Sherlock had come back from the men's room, as the babysitter began her explanation for the call.

"So, Mrs. Holmes?" 

"Yes, sweetie, what is it?"  Samantha was a great kid who lived around the corner from John and Mary.  She was funny, played the trumpet, was bi-curious, and had green hair.  Molly loved her at first sight, whilst Sherlock had merely rolled his eyes.  The only one of her qualifications that had persuaded him to let her sit The Baby was that she had straight A's and had earned early admission to Harvard ("I want to study abroad because I want to go into diplomacy.")

"Did you hear that Sherlock?"  Molly chimed, elbowing her husband in the ribs.  "HAR.  VARD!!"

Sherlock tried to pretend to be unimpressed. "Fine.  She'll do."  He turned on his heel and swept out of the room, clutching The Baby to him like a rugby ball.

The babysitter interrupted Molly's reverie.  "Well, um, do you want me to go home now?"

Molly had a brief moment of alarm.  "What do you mean 'go home?'  What's going on?  Where's the baby?"

"Oh, she's perfect, she's fine.  It's just that..."

And then Molly heard it.  The strains of a violin in the background, a cooing noise that she would recognize anywhere as her infant, these particular vocalizations being in response to her Daddy's music-making, and then a few crashing sounds.  Footsteps.  

"Um, it's just that..."

"Mr. Holmes is home." She and Molly said it at the same time.  In the background, Molly could hear Sherlock interrogating the babysitter as to who was on the phone and why was she on the phone when she was supposed to be babysitting and what was in her purse and where was her CPR certificate.

"I don't know how he got in, because I was watching the telly on the couch by the door...."

"And eating us out of house and home!' Sherlock yelled in the background.

Molly rolled her eyes.  She gathered her purse, made her apologies, left the bar, and hailed a cab.  She looked back over her shoulder longingly at the fun she had left behind, and then hopped in.

 As the lights of London streamed by, she ruminated on how she should have anticipated Sherlock's abrupt, stealthy departure, going back to the very beginning.  

Five weeks ago.

_____________________________

"This is a really good article, Molly, so listen up.  Sherlock adjusted his seating position, uncrossed and recrossed his legs, folded the magazine to fit comfortably in one hand while he stroked Molly's clammy cheek  with his free hand.  "Are you listening?"

_New mothers often find it difficult allow strangers near their child, much less allow one to take responsibility for their child's welfare in their absence.  Eventually, all new mothers must face the moment when they leave their child for the first time._

"Are you listening?  They must face this moment.  Must!"

Molly grunted with her exertions.  Surely Sherlock could think of another time to discuss the multitudinous adjustments they both would have to make in light of the very huge change about to happen in their lives.

"Molly?  Are listening?"

"Yes, Sherlock."  And she pushed one final push to deliver her little girl.

"Good, I'm glad you're listening because.....oh...."

_____________________________

She was jostled back to the present moment by the voice of her babysitter begging Mr. Holmes to stop looking through her bag.   _Why do I have birth control in my purse? It's for my acne!  And my anemia!  No, I don't make it a point to sleep with every boy who passes me in the hallway!  No, I don't have firearms training.  No, I most certainly am not interested in obtaining firearms training!"_

"Yes, you can go home, Samantha.  But wait, did Mr. Homes pay you?"

"Uh.  Yeah..." her voice dropping down to a whisper, "he paid me too much, Mrs. Holmes."

"What do you mean?"

"He gave me a 100 pound note and told me to not to mention that he was here."  

"Which you have utterly failed to do!" Sherlock bellowed.  He was obviously right next to her.

_____________________________

_We can help the new mother adjust to outside carers by creating short opportunities for the mother to spend time away from the baby.  A cup of coffee.  A visit to the manicurist.  A quick lunch out with friends._

_____________________________

Sherlock prepared The Baby's bottle while cradling her tiny form with one arm.  

"Sherlock, you've been holding her all day.  Do you want to use the..." 

"The baby hammock?  No. I'm not putting My Child into that death trap."  He ladled the milk into the newly sterilized bottle, and tested it on his hand.  "Ow!  We'll wait, darling, we'll wait just a minute," he cooed to his daughter, swinging her in time to the tune he hummed. 

"So you can see, Molly, why we can't possibly talk of babysitters and such because they would scald My Child's tongue, and we can't have that." 

Molly just sighed and handed Sherlock the burping towel.

Later, after they had laid The Baby down for a nap and curled up in bed to try to grab some sleep of their own, Sherlock murmured a single word into Molly's neck.  "Homeschooling."

"Homeschooling?"  Molly shot bolt upright.  "She's five..."

"Oh, my God, she's already five, isn't she?!?!

"Weeks.  Five weeks."

"I just can't abide incompetence, and certainly not when it comes to My Child."

"Are you sure it's incompetent teachers you are worried about, or is it you can't stand to be away from her for more than one minute."

"I've never been away from her for more than one minute.  Why would I ever be away from her for more than one minute?  A minute is a very long time. What could I possibly need to do that would necessitate that?"

Molly sighed and let her head drop back to Sherlock's shoulder as he enumerated the three hundred and forty-five things that might call him away from his daughter and why every single one of them was less important than making sure she had each and every one of her myriad needs attended to with the utmost attention to detail.

_____________________________

_The world is vast, wide, and cruel.  We can understand the first time mother's reluctance to expose her precious baby to these realities any sooner than necessary._

_____________________________

"Mrs. Holmes, um, I hate to be crass, but, the money?"  The babysitter was waiting patiently on the other end of the line.

"Oh...well, keep it.  Keep the money."

"I....can't."

That pause between the words "I" and "can't" made Molly's stomach flip flop.  She needed a babysitter. It's not that she didn't love and adore her baby with all her heart and would lay down her life for her.  But if she didn't get a break, a break where just she and her husband could speak to one another like adults and maybe even have a bit of a snog, or gasp, even a drink, she was going to go bat shit crazy.

"Please!  Take the money!  We need you to come back!"

"No, I mean, I can't because he's trying to grab it out of my hands right now!"

Molly huffed in exasperation.  "Hold the phone up, just hold it up to his face."

And Molly ripped Sherlock a new one, metaphorically speaking.

_____________________________

_Some mothers may take longer than expected to become entirely comfortable with a stranger caring for their child.  In this case, it is best not to rush the anxious parent, but to allow her the time and space she needs to accept her new reality.  Babies are not as fragile as we might think, and it may take this new mom time to recognize that babies are, in fact, quite resilient.  They can bear a bit of fussing, a moment or two of discomfort.  They do need to eventually become self-soothing._

_____________________________

After the cab dropped her off, she walked around to the back, and climbed the fire escape.  She inspected the kitchen window for tale tell signs of Sherlock's breaking and entering.  Just a bit of sawdust, and a few chinks in the wood at the edge of the frame where he had shimmied it open.  

No broken glass. He was improving.

_____________________________

_In extreme cases, we may find that the mother may actually need the intervention of friends and family to prise the infant away from her steely arms._

_____________________________

Molly trudged up the stairs to 221-B.  It would have been awfully nice to spend the evening out with Sherlock.  WIth friends.  No nappies.  Talking and sitting.  A teensy bit of the taste of adult life.

She opened the door and found them both sprawled out on the couch, Sherlock flat on his back, eyes closed, his giraffe legs splayed every which way, one bony white foot on the ground, The Baby asleep on his chest.  Molly swept an errant curl off of Sherlock's forehead and ran one fingertip lovingly down The Baby's cheek.   The infant wriggled her butt even higher into the air, more fully moulded her tiny form to her father's chest.  

After hanging up her coat, Molly made her way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

One day Sherlock would be ready to leave His Baby with a stranger.

Today was not that day.

"And tomorrow won't be either."

"WHAT?"  She yelled from the kitchen, failing to catch the mug she dropped at his unexpected interjection.

"You think very loudly, Molly."  And he went back to sleep.


	2. Game Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Babysitter is permitted entrance to the Holmes' home to play a game....

"It's your move."

"No.  It's your move."

"I've been waiting for you to move for five minutes."

"I've been waiting for you to move for _ten_.  Minutes."

"Fine."

Molly poured the hot water over her tea, then replaced the lid of the teapot to allow it to steep.  In the next room, her husband and Samantha were engrossed in their maneuvers. She assumed the baby was with them, hopefully being tended to and not ignored. Probably moulded to Sherlock's chest like a breastplate. After what seemed like eternities, Molly heard the buzzing of the Operation game.  

"Oh, bugger!" her husband exclaimed.  

After another interminable interlude of silence, Molly heard Sherlock mutter, "What are you still doing here?"

_"Excuse you?"_

Molly stirred the sugar into her tea, smiled to herself, and silently saluted Samantha's retort.

"You've won," Sherlock groused.  "It's obviously time to leave."

"I'm on the clock, Mr Holmes!"

"Huh?"

"You are paying me to babysit."

"Oh.  Ethics?"

"Yes.  Ethics - it is customary to actually work for the money one receives."

"Oh.  I knew that."  Although Sherlock most certainly did not know that and was never terribly good at collecting money from his clients and had a list of overdue invoices miles long and actually much preferred to receive services in kind for extricating people from their difficulties, which might make him seem more like a mafioso than a detective, but so be it, getting free dry cleaning, tailoring, food, and protection from all manner of lurking dangers was worth having to occasionally grovel to Mycroft for a few....

Silence.

"Was that out loud?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes.  So....can I hold the baby now?"

"Okay.  I'm getting Chute and Ladders.  Don't move, don't breathe.  Well...do breathe, because if you don't breathe you will pass out and drop My Child.  No, no, no, no, no!  She doesn't like it when you hold Her like that.  Let me...just, here...give Her back, give Her back, I'll just take Her and get the game down from the..."

There came a great clattering of game pieces and boards and boxes as Sherlock dislodged the entire inventory of games from the bookshelves.

"Okay, just, here...you hold Her and I'll find the game....it's here somewhere."

Molly calmly walked into the living room only to be greeted by the sight of her husband kneeling on the rug, his rump high in the air as he sifted through piles of cardboard boxes, some half open. Instructions, dice, game boards, box tops, and timers came whirling up from the tornado of his arms. Molly ducked as a doll-sized metal car struck the wall near her head.

Samantha, a lock of straight green hair draped over one black-rimmed eyeglass, was cuddling The Baby and softly cooing to Her. When she saw Molly, they exchanged slight smiles, as if smiling too broadly would actually be audible to the World's Only Consulting....

Sherlock looked up from the pile of games on the floor.

"Why are you both smiling at me like idiots?"

Molly and Samantha exchanged glances.

"You let Samantha hold Her."

"Well.....that's just because I can see what The Babysitter is doing at all times...."

And Sherlock began jabbing his finger at various corners of the room.

"Camera.  Mirror.  Mirror."

Pointing at the light fixture on the ceiling - "Reflective surface."

He tapped frenetically at his watch.  "See - camera, watch, camera, watch.  Oh, look, I've got a mirror feature - camera, mirror, watch."

Jabbing rapid fire.  "Camera mirror watch camera mirror watch."

He marched over the the television set, turned it on, tapped a few buttons.  Then he twirled on his heel and peremptorily grabbed Samantha's black-rimmed glasses right off her face.  The Babysitter's mouth fell open.  He held the glasses by their frames and began sweeping them over the expanse of the room.

On the television, everything in the room was displayed as Sherlock used the micro-camera he had implanted in Sam's glasses to survey the room.  He walked right up to Molly, holding the glasses out at arm's length right in front of her face.

"Say 'hi' for the camera!"

Molly did not say 'hi' for the camera.

He took the glasses and walked right up to Samantha.  

"Say 'hi' for the camera."  On the telly - Samantha's mouth was still wide open.  Sherlock honed in as if he were a dentist inspecting her fillings.

"Hmm..." he murmured disapprovingly.  "Mercury.  You will be having those replaced.  My Baby can't be exposed to toxic off-gassing."

He aimed the glasses at The Baby.

"Hi, Sweetie, hello, my little Buttercup, my Micro-cosmos, my Darling, my Sweet.  Say 'hi' to your father.  Ooh, look a little bit of mucous, let's clean that off so you'll make a pretty sight for the video recording."

"Sherlock....?"  The warning creeping up in Molly's voice.

He sniffed.  "She is never out of my sight."

Molly leaned against the doorframe and sipped her tea.  Rather than argue with the Detective, she silently noted that The Babysitter had been holding The Baby for almost three entire minutes.

Small steps.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This will probably get revised a few times - sorry, it's just what I do!  
> [November 12, 2016 - I changed the rating to Teen]
> 
> 2\. This is a work of fiction, and in no way, shape, or form should this trifle be taken as advice about breastfeeding or child-rearing. LOL! 
> 
> No, seriously, I'm not kidding. Please consult your physician, your mum, and your better angels concerning all matters related to alcohol and breastfeeding.)
> 
> 3\. Let me know in comments if you would like more from the POV of Samantha The Green-Haired Babysitter.
> 
> 4\. Totally not Brit-picked. I could use help with the terms "babysitter," "sitter," and "homeschooling." I could use a Brit picker, too. How do I get one of those?!?


End file.
